


...From The Pain

by ladyoneill



Series: Lady O's Teen Wolf Bingo Stories [78]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post-Nogitsune, Running Away, Underage Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 18:22:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1951401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoneill/pseuds/ladyoneill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Nogitsune, Stiles can't deal with anything and runs away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	...From The Pain

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Hurt/Comfort bingo prompt: Runaways. This is a dark fic. Stiles ends up prostituting himself, though nothing is graphically described herein. I put the rape/noncon tag on here because he is underage and, while it's his choice, there really isn't one. Title from Aerosmith's "Janie's Got A Gun".

After the Nogitsune. After Allison's funeral. After Scott trying too hard and Lydia unable to meet his eyes, after Derek disappears again, after Isaac leaves with a snarl and his dad overcompensates and Ethan nearly hits him and Chris...Chris...

Stiles runs.

He can't sleep or concentrate. He barely can talk and function. As much as memories that aren't truly his, his room haunts him, so, at night, he wanders the house or sits on the couch and stares, trapped in his dark thoughts.

Until, he runs.

Leaving his jeep behind, taking his backpack stuffed with a couple of changes of clothes, a picture of his parents, and a burner phone, he empties his bank account--just under three hundred dollars; that's not going to last long--and buys a bus ticket to Houston. Why Houston? Far enough away and warm enough he'll be able to sleep outside because he's realistic and jobs will be few and far between and he can't afford a motel or apartment without one.

Of course, that means he's actually planning to sleep.

Houston is warm, but also big and dirty and impersonal. Stiles isn't stupid either. He has a knife in his backpack, too, a nasty, sharp one. He can protect himself. It's just...

He's not sure he deserves to do so.

After a few days of wandering, he finds the local food bank and soup kitchen, as well as a number of shelters which he learns early on to avoid at night, though they're good places to hang out in during the day and they have showers. Finding the main library, he spends a lot of time there, reading books, dozing in quite corners, and avoiding all current news.

The internet is something he never goes near.

He just doesn't want to know if anyone's looking for him.

His thoughts, though, are always on home. How Scott's handling being the Alpha. If his dad is eating healthy foods. If everyone is just...okay.

A few times he picks up odd jobs, makes a bit of money, but he's skinny and young and can't do the kind of work most of those looking for day jobs can. Stiles is hopeless at construction and, frankly, the migrant workers are much stronger and hardier than him and can stand a whole day in the heat in the fields.

Not wanting to use any identification and having no experience, he doesn't even try to get a part-time job at a fast food place.

So, within a month, even with sleeping on the streets--with some other young people who he's learned to trust in so far as they won't steal from him, rape him or murder him--his money runs out.

The soup kitchen only serves one meal a day. Most of the food at the food bank requires a kitchen for cooking--and he feels bad taking from struggling families. He doesn't have any talent for busking and he's not a veteran or a guy with kids, so begging doesn't get him much.

But there's one thing he can do.

Maybe he deserves that, too.

The first time Stiles joins a couple of other young guys on a street corner, he's scared to death. He doesn't want to do this. He's not even sure he physically can force himself to do this, but his stomach is rumbling with hunger and maybe, after a few times, he can get enough money for a cheap motel room with a real bed for a night.

He knows he has an interesting face and pretty lips--enough men have commented lewdly on that since he's been in Houston. Wearing his skinny jeans and his tightest t-shirt, he's confident he's not ugly and no longer quite as gangly as he was the year before. The hair helps, and it's even longer now, making him look younger than he is.

The look of fear in his eyes probably helps even more. After all, most of the men who pick up boys on street corners are predators.

Stiles knows predators.

After the first time--his knees aching from the hard concrete of the alley, his lips swollen, his throat aching, a horrible taste lingering in his mouth--he retreats with his twenty dollar bill to the cardboard boxes he's been sharing, and cries.

But, the next night, he goes back, and it gets somewhat better, and after a week he's earning enough for a couple meals a day and a motel room for one night. A thrift store provides him with some sexier clothes. He gets condoms at the free clinic and starts using them for oral sex just in case. Most of his days are still spent at the library reading and trying not to think.

The news and internet are still avoided.

Some of the guys he hangs out with offer him booze and drugs, but, while he doesn't want to think of everything that sucks in his life, all he's missing, he doesn't feel like he deserves to be numb, either.

And, drugs especially, will use up his money faster than he can earn it.

The first month he only does oral, but Stiles knows it's inevitable that he'll give in and let some guy fuck him for more money. Even in Houston, the winter nights are growing chilly. The other hookers--because that's what he is; he doesn't sugarcoat the truth to himself--have started talking about pooling their money and getting a cheap apartment and they've offered him a spot. He just needs to earn a bit more each week. The competition is fierce and half the boys are younger than him by at least a year or three. Some nights he doesn't earn anything at all. A lot of the johns want to fuck a boy's ass not his mouth. So, with very little care anymore--what was he holding onto it for anyway--he makes the decision.

It's just typical of how crappy his life has become, that the man whose car he gets into to lose his virginity to is an undercover cop, and Stiles winds up spending the night in jail. He's been using a bus station locker for his belongings, but he carries the key on him, and the police find his backpack and his driver's license.

And, because he's underage, and there's actually a missing child report on him, they call his dad.

The next day around noon the charges are dropped--professional courtesy is his assumption when he sees his dad waiting for him, out of uniform, but ever the cop, though he looks...tired and sad and thinner than normal.

And Stiles reddens in embarrassment because he's dressed in shorts and a cropped t-shirt and smells of sex and...

He can't look at his dad.

His dad doesn't seem to care, just drags him into a tight embrace that leaves both of them shaking, near tears.

"Kiddo..."

The gruff, loving voice is all it takes, and Stiles breaks down, just helplessly sobbing.

"Daddy..."

He doesn't really remember leaving the police station, getting in the car, going into a nice hotel room with his dad. The cops had taken his gear from the locker, so he's able to change into more normal clothes. Still crying, he takes a shower first and scrubs his teeth with soap because, before propositioning the cop who arrested him, he gave a guy a blowjob and breath mints only go so far. When he comes out of the bathroom, his dad has ordered lunch--burgers, fries, cokes--and, despite being upset and having no clue how to face what he knows is coming, Stiles has also learned not to ignore free food.

They sit at the small table and eat and don't talk, and Stiles just lets his mind drift because he doesn't know what to say anyway.

But, talking is inevitable.

"We have a flight home at eight tonight," his dad says softly.

They can't afford that. Stiles opens his mouth to protest, but then he sees the determination on his father's face, and shuts down again.

"I'm so sorry, Stiles. So sorry I wasn't there for you."

But...that wasn't it at all. Looking up with confused eyes, he shakes his head. "No, no, dad, it's not your fault, none of it. I just...I just couldn't handle anything."

"And I should have seen that. I knew you weren't sleeping much, were avoiding your friends, barely dragging yourself to school. I should have helped you, gotten you help."

And who could have helped him? Morrell? The only option to be able to talk about the supernatural isn't one he trusts. He just shakes his head again and stares at his hands folded in his lap.

"I've been so...scared."

That was the last thing Stiles wanted, but he was never stupid enough to believe it wasn't inevitable. The only thing that kept him from running sooner was the worry he would cause his dad.

"I'm sorry."

"Every time a report came across my desk of a possible sighting, a...dead body your age in a morgue...Stiles...God..."

"I'm sorry." Even more dully spoken. What else can he be?

"No, I don't mean to guilt you. I just...I don't know what to do to help you."

Stiles shrugs because it's not like he hasn't given it some thought over the couple months on the run. "I just couldn't deal with everything. And, I guess...maybe I figured no one should have to deal with me."

"That wasn't just your decision." The hint of sharpness in his father's voice bring his eyes jerking up and he notes the color on the older man's face.

Oh, well, Stiles figured there'd be anger. Who wants a hooker for a son?

"Sorry," he mumbles, because he just doesn't know what else to say.

His dad huffs a breath. "How about we both stop apologizing?"

Suddenly exhausted, Stiles shrugs again and the burger starts to feel heavy in his stomach.

The edge leaves his father's voice. "How about you get some sleep instead. We have plenty of time to talk all this through once we're both clear headed." The 'and home' is heavily implied.

But...

"Dad, I...I don't know if I can just go home."

"Of course you can. I know you think you were doing the best thing for everyone, but, kiddo, you were wrong," his dad says sadly. "Everyone missed you, was scared for you. Everyone."

A sob burbles up out of Stiles and he's crying again. "But, I...I killed..."

"No. You didn't do anything, Stiles, and, if we have to, we will all spend the rest of our lives convincing you of that."

"I deserved this! I deserved to sleep on the streets and scrounge for food and...and become a whore!" Once he admits it, it's like a dam bursting and he doesn't even know everything he sobs and screams.

All Stiles knows is that his dad's strong arms wrap around him, drag him onto the bed, and just won't let go.

As they both cry themselves to sleep.

End


End file.
